Selfish Motives
by Reyka Sivao
Summary: Van Hohenheim and Pinako talk about time, family, and things worthy of toasting.


Author's Note: Story written for the Secret Coconut, a fic exchange promoted by the community Saint Seiya Super Fics Journal. Set post-Brotherhood/Manga, ignoring character death.

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><p>You can never go home again, the old saying went.<p>

Van Hohenheim had known that well enough when he left, but left he had. And yet, here he was, in the town he had once called home, sitting at the table of the oldest friend he had left.

Pinako's house was the same as he could ever remember, filled with warm light, good food, and the ever-present tang of machine oil. Right now, too, it was filled with the voices and laughter of people still filled with the glow of having survived the unsurvivable.

"Having fun yet?" said Pinako, sitting down next to him. "It's a party, you know. We're all celebrating not being dead."

Van Hohenheim nodded gravely and raised his glass. "To not being dead," he said.

"Hear, hear," said Pinako, clinking glasses with him and then looking out across the room at the next generation.

Al, back in the body that had aged without him, was sitting next to an enormous plate of food, grinning at a red-looking Ed and Winry who stood near him. What he'd just said, van Hohenheim hadn't caught, but Ed's vaguely threatening motions made it clear that the joke had been at his expense.

"It's like no time has passed at all," said Pinako softly.

Van Hohenheim glanced at her, and then back across towards the room towards where Al was now shouting with laughter while his brother was making an expression of rage and Winry was threatening them both with a lug wrench.

"Really?" he said. "I was thinking just the opposite."

Pinako took a long pull on her drink. "That too."

Van Hohenheim's eyebrows rose, but he didn't turn away from the scene in front of him. "I would have thought that I would be the one with the distorted sense of time," he said. "Or are you just being philosophical?"

"Alcohol does that to me," said Pinako. "You of all people should know that by now."

"Indeed," said van Hohenheim, and took another drink.

"The more things change, the more they stay the same," said Pinako with a sage nod. "You can still see exactly who they were when they were small children, even after everything."

Van Hohenheim looked again. "You can, maybe," he said. "You were here."

Pinako snorted. "Is that guilt I hear? I thought you'd already made peace with gallivanting off to save the world."

Despite himself, a twitch pulled an van Hohenheim's lip. "I've gallivanted back again, it seems." He raised the glass, stared into it for a moment, and then lowered it without drinking. "I left to save Trisha's world," he added without refocusing.

Pinako glanced at him. "And didn't you?"

Van Hohenheim glanced in the direction of him children. "It was hardly a selfless act," he said.

Pinako laughed slightly. "If there's one thing I've found, it's that the older I get, the less I think there's any such thing."

"Is that so?" said van Hohenheim with vague interest, and took another sip of his drink. "Then perhaps it won't surprise you if I say I'm here again for purely selfish reasons."

"What, and not simply for the pleasure of my company?"

"Is that not a selfish enough reason?"

Pinako snorted. "Touché. But yes. You want your sons back. You want them to love you like they did when they were small and had no reason not to trust you."

Van Hohenheim winced. "Not to put too fine a point on it," he said.

"It's a natural enough reason," said Pinako. "Doesn't mean you'll get what you want."

Van Hohenheim sighed slightly.

"Doesn't mean you won't, either," added Pinako, almost as an afterthought. "Though if all you'll be satisfied with is the love a toddler has to offer, then, well, you might want to adjust your expectations."

With a slight smile, van Hohenheim raised his glass again. "To the passage of time, then, and may it adjust all our expectations."

"Oh, I don't think so," said Pinako. "You toast the passage of time. I think it's done enough for me without my encouragement."

Van Hohenheim drank his own toast with a nod. "It hasn't changed you so much at all," he said as an afterthought. "You're the same as I ever remember."

Pinako snorted again. "Now who's waxing philosophical about the nature of time?" she said.

Van Hohenheim shrugged. "Clearly, you've been a bad influence on me."

"Me?" said Pinako. "And just how much older are you again?"

"Old enough to know better than to argue with you."

"And yet, you still haven't learned that lesson."

Van Hohenheim smiled into his drink. "It might be too late for me on that one," he said.

"That it might," said Pinako. "But it's not too late for you build bridges with those kids of yours. They're good kids, and you should give them a chance to give you a chance. Maybe they will, and maybe they won't, and that's not yours to say, but you can still try. Just don't screw up and think everything's going to be the same."

Van Hohenheim was silent a moment, looking across the room to where Ed was now helping an unsteady Al to his feet, even though his own right arm was just as unused to movement.

"Perhaps," he said, and then raised his glass one last time. "To family," he said, and then drained it.

"Now that, I'll drink to," muttered Pinako. "To family, second chances, and those foolish enough to try them."

Van Hohenheim smiled again. "Fools still rush in where angels fear to tread, I see," he said.

"Always," said Pinako. "But you can still make Trisha proud. They say you can't go home again, but that doesn't mean you can't make a new home to come to."

"You know, I think I'd like that," said van Hohenheim, and stood to join the celebration.


End file.
